


Skies of Red

by Shadow15



Series: From Dusk to Dawn the Dark is Endless [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, No Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 11:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16701232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: When Quill loses Yondu traumatically, he finds the push he needed to go back and face his childhood demons.  It will never undo the pain he's suffered, but it certainly eases the crushing weight from his shoulders.





	1. Chapter 1

There was little Quill loved more than spending his Fridays with Yondu while Thor was at work.  Yondu got him out of the house, keeping him busy as the man went about his errands. Just as he had as a child, Quill cared only about Yondu wanting him tagging along for an adventure and never minded what they did together.   

It tended to work out well; Quill was allowed to finish work early on Friday mornings as long as he got all his jobs done, and today he’d completed everything in time to accompany Yondu to the bank to pay his employees.  The problem with that was Quill _hated_ standing in queues.  He knew it would have been easier for him had he brought along his service dog, but a year after the events that had led to needing her, he’d taken to trying his hardest to go outside his front door without the need to bring her with him.  

Yondu helped in her stead, though.  He stood close behind Quill to put space between his kid and anyone behind them, talking to him and ranting about how his latest roadside job an hour away had been a waste of his and Kraglin’s time.  

“So we get there, and the idiot hasn’t damn turned their steerin’ wheel!” Yondu’s nose scrunched up at the memory while Quill tried not to laugh.  “So Krag rotates the steerin’ wheel a bit and the key barrel turns. And o’ course, the car starts, too.”

Quill finally laughed.  “How much did you make them pay?”

Yondu waved a dismissive hand.  “Wasn’t even worth tryin’ ta get money outta them, Pete.  We just cut our losses and went home.”

Quill opened his mouth to respond, but he quickly closed it at the scream that echoed so loudly, he felt deafened.  He slapped his hands over his ears instinctively as the familiar anxiety churned in his stomach, and as he snapped his head to the side to see what was happening, all that his eyes could make out were people scattering in terror.  His own feet almost moved instinctively with theirs, but he stayed put when Yondu grabbed his arm and kept him in place.

“Get down!  Get down on the ground!”

Quill’s shoulders squeezed tightly at the shouting that echoed throughout the lobby, loud enough to bounce off the marble that made up the flooring and pillaring.  His throat constricted as a shudder ripped through his body. He felt paralysed, like his mind was telling him to move but his muscles weren’t getting the message.

“Get down!” Yondu hissed as he grabbed Quill again and forced him to his knees.  “Ya tryin’ ta get yerself killed?”

Quill’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he looked at Yondu.  His eyes were wide, and the way he pressed himself against his foster father so reminiscently of his teenage years was evidence enough of his terror.

“It’ll be okay,” Yondu muttered.  “Don’t look. Don’t look at anythin’, boy.  No matter what you hear.”

Quill squeezed his eyes shut tight.  He could hear gunfire around him, more people screaming, and so much _shouting,_ he wanted to go home and curl up in his bed and never go outside again.  And then…

“Get up!  Get the fuck up!”

Quill’s fingers dug tightly into Yondu’s arms when he felt the man pulling him to his feet.  He couldn’t help but look around now, and at the sight that befell him, he was sure he was going to vomit.

There was blood all throughout the lobby, staining the shining marble floors red beneath unmoving bodies.  The pack of gunmen running around were getting people to their feet, smacking victims with their guns and kicking them into standing.

“Yondu…” Quill’s whisper trembled.  “I didn’t - O-oww…!“

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch him!” Yondu roared at the masked man who had smacked Quill in the face with the butt of his gun.  He glanced at Quill to check on him, but his temper only flared at the sight of his kid holding his face in both hands as blood seeped through the cracks of his fingers.  “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

Quill backed away blindly at the fight he could hear in front of him. He never took his hands from his face, but by now, it wasn’t from the excruciating pain in his face; he was too scared to see what was happening to Yondu, terrified of losing him just like he seemed to lose everyone he loved.

But Quill eventually did pull his hands away after another gunshot, and a sudden, indescribable pain in his shoulder had him screaming for Yondu.  Blood seemed to coming from everywhere, he vaguely thought as he felt it seeping through his clothing, rushing down his face, and clinging to his hands as they stained redder than they’d ever been before, but still, another gunshot went off and he was sent crashing to the ground as a bullet lodged itself in his leg and shattered bone.

“Yondu!” Quill screamed desperately.  Yondu was looking at him, blood covering everyone involved in the tussle, but Quill would forever blame himself for what happened next; if he hadn’t screamed for Yondu, Yondu wouldn’t have turned his head to look at him and left himself open to the gun that pressed against his head and fired the last bullet.

Quill felt as if his world had stopped.  Everything moved in slow motion as Yondu’s lifeless body toppled on top of him, splattering him in so much gore, Quill finally _did_ vomit.  

“Get the fuck up!”

Quill didn’t have time to grieve.  The arms he’d wrapped around his foster father were ripped away as he was pulled to his feet by his hair and dragged over to the other hostages, led further into the bank and away from the only father he’d ever truly had.

* * *

 

Quill woke up screaming, just as he had been every night for the past two weeks.  He couldn’t stop, not until the strong arms wrapped around him finally let go of his body to turn the lamp on instead.  

“Peter?” Thor’s voice was slurred, a byproduct of his absolute exhaustion at having his sleep interrupted nightly now.  He reached out again and pulled Quill against his body, holding him close and dragging his fingers through his lover’s hair.  He was tired, so tired, he only wanted to go back to sleep. “It is okay now. You are safe…”

Quill sniffed amongst his tears.  He rolled around and pressed his face to Thor’s chest, mumbling something too muffled to be coherent to either of their ears, but it didn’t matter much because while Thor had already fallen asleep again, Quill tossed and turned for what could have been an eternity until he reached across to his bedside table and grabbed his phone.

Thor had told him once Quill was only hurting himself doing this.  He’d looked so worried and sad and _lost_ as he almost _begged_ Quill to stop this, but at the same time, Thor had understood; Quill wasn’t coping with his loss, and he couldn’t accept that Yondu was gone.

Quill’s shaking fingers opened his call list.  His eyesight blurred with tears as he took in his recent calls; calls both missed and answered from Thor every day scattered amongst the stacks upon stacks of unanswered calls to Yondu’s mobile and home phone and even to his work phone.  He couldn’t stand to see the number of times he’d spent trying to get through, well into the double digits; it made his stomach churn and bile climb his throat as he told himself that this time would be different; Yondu would finally pick up his call.

Dawn rolled by, and Quill had almost succeeded in dialing into the triple digits once again before Thor had reached across and gently pulled the phone from his hands.  He looked up at his lover, his tears long-since ran dry, and whispered, “I just want to tell him I’m sorry…”

Thor squeezed his eyes shut tight as he choked on his own sob.  He shook his head. “He _knows_ you are not at fault, Peter…”

“I just want to tell him that…  I just want to hear his voice again!” Quill whimpered.  

Thor sighed.  He grabbed Quill by the back of his head and gently guided him to rest his face against his shoulder.  “Go back to sleep, Peter; you need your rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Quill defied.  

Thor rubbed Quill’s back, wishing he knew how to help.  “Lay down. I will bring you coffee and change your bandages.”

Quill nodded.  He made himself comfortable amongst his pillows before he reached out for the TV remote.  He turned it on and flicked through the channels before he settled on the early morning cartoons while he waited for Thor to come back.  He could hear the dogs scratching at the bedroom door, wanting to come in, and as much as he wanted to let them in so they could sleep with them like they used to, he couldn’t; the last time he’d tried that, one of them had stood on his leg and dug their claws into his wound, reopening the stitches and causing immense pain.

The doorbell rang, and Quill groaned in displeasure at someone thinking it was perfectly acceptable to be at their door before the sun was even in the sky properly. “Thor!  Get the door!”

Quill listened to Thor’s heavy footsteps cross the apartment until voices took their place.  He heard the front door close, and then heavier footsteps that thudded unmistakably from boots approached the bedroom.  He felt his anxiety rage in his stomach once more, not knowing who it was.

“Hey, move it, will ya…?”

Quill relaxed as he recognised Kraglin’s voice. He listened to his brother-figure move the dogs away from the door so he could step inside and close the door again.  “Hey, Krag…”

“Hey, Petey…” Kraglin mumbled back.  He wiped hurriedly at his own eyes as he moved to take a seat on the bed next to Quill.  “I got some stuff for ya… He asked me to give ‘em to ya if anythin’ ever happened to ‘im.”

Quill felt his breath catch in his throat.  His hands clenched by his sides as he tried to fight back a fresh wave of tears.  “I’m not ready…”

Kraglin shook his head.  He reached into his pocket and withdrew something wrapped up in a handkerchief.  He passed it silently to Quill, unable to watch as he hesitated to open the gift and see what was inside.

Quill let out a loud sob as Yondu’s treasured figurines fell out onto his lap. He picked up the green frog jewel he’d always thought was cute and held it so tenderly, it broke Kraglin’s heart.  He looked up at Kraglin and sobbed, “H-he loved collecting t-these…”

“Oh.” Kraglin reached into his pocket to add to the pile on Quill’s lap.  “Sorry, Pete. I couldn’t fit ‘im in there.”

Quill wiped at his eyes at the troll doll he remembered so clearly giving to Yondu when he was young.  Aleta had bought him a set of troll dolls for his birthday, and knowing that Yondu collected small things, he gave one to Yondu for his collection.  “He kept him…”

“‘Course he did; it was his favourite,” Kraglin promised.  “There’s somethin’ else for ya, too.”

Quill sniffed.  “Can you put them on my bedside drawers for me?  Facing me?”

Kraglin did as he was requested.  He lined them up neatly, just how they used to be on Yondu’s bedroom shelves.  Once he was done with that, he withdrew one more thing from his pocket, a small book that he hesitated in passing to Quill.  “Umm… He’s been workin’ on this since he got ya, really… Wanted ya to never, ever forget how far you came…”

Quill gingerly took the book and opened it.  It was a photo album, he could see, and the first photo in it was one from not long after he’d come home with Yondu.  In the photo, he knelt on the ground with his head bowed, hiding away in the corner as he’d tended to do in his distrust and uncertainty of Yondu.  

The next photo in line was a day Quill remembered well - but he’d had no idea of the expression he’d held on his face back then.  He almost didn’t think it was even _him,_ unable to believe how _happy_ and _innocent_ he looked at changing his first tyre with Yondu.  

He flicked to the next one, and his throat tightened as he found himself looking at him nursing baby Rocket, feeding him a bottle and being so tender with his tiny hands, Rocket had never known anything but love from him.  

It was the next photo that had him crying again.  He wiped away his tears as a small smile crossed his face at how joyful he looked, wearing a Santa hat as he sat on Yondu’s lap with Kraglin’s arm around him.

It was hard for him to look at the rest of the photos, but he was glad when he made it to the end; there was a letter waiting patiently for him.  

“Krag…?” Quill bit his lip as he looked at Kraglin.  “...Do I… want to read this…?”

Kraglin nodded.  “Ya don’t have to right now if ya can’t…  But I know he’d want ya to at some point, Petey…”

“I can’t read this so soon…” Quill battled hard against the tears, but he couldn’t keep them at bay.  “I-I _can’t_ …”

“Look at this instead.  It’s his will.” Kraglin handed over a piece of paper, trading it for the photo album so he could safely place it inside Quill’s bedside drawers.

The will was easier for Quill to open, and when he did, he felt stunned at what awaited him.  His mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments as he looked back to Kraglin, but finally, he whispered, “He left us his house and his business, Krag…  And his car is for me...”

“What, ya think he don’t love ya enough for that, Pete?” Kraglin had fresh tears of his own rolling down his cheeks.  He shook his head. “He loved ya. Why do you think he never had ‘nother kid after ya? You were e’rythin’ he ever wanted - you were _enough_ for ‘im.  He left ‘em to us ‘cause he loved us like ‘is own and knows we’ll work it out between us.”

Quill nodded.  He leant to the side so he could curl in against his brother and cry his pain out.  “I miss him so much, Krag…”

“Me too, Petey.” Kraglin wrapped his arm around Quill’s shoulders and held him close.  “Me, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

Quill wasn’t well.  He’d spiralled downwards so much in his grieving, Thor was afraid to leave him alone.  The nightmares weren’t stopping, and the rate at which he was waking up screaming was worsening.  

That was probably why, not long after Thor had gone to bed at seven, exhausted half to death, Quill had left the house on impulse.  It wasn’t easy for him to leave on a leg that was still healing from the bullet wound, and every step he took down the stairs caused his shoulder to clench and burn painfully.  

But finally, when he got down to the underground car lot and limped to his cars parked in their designated bays, he passed by Yondu’s SUV, unable to bear even  _ looking  _ at it, and unlocked his own Toyota to get in to the driver’s seat. 

Quill was glad his injured leg wasn’t his clutch foot or this would have been even more painful than it already was for him to drive out from under the apartment complex and make his way to the farm that still haunted his dreams at night. 

* * *

 

Quill remembered this driveway - to a degree, anyway.  He could remember being chained down to his bed and staring out of the window at the long, winding dirt driveway in hopes his dad would be back soon to unchain him.  He’d only travelled it the once that he was old enough to remember, and that was in the back of an ambulance, watching the road through the back doors and trying his hardest to erase every memory of that house he had.  

But what Quill didn’t remember was the gate he was now standing in front of, illuminated by his car’s headlights.  There was a chain and padlock keeping the gate shut, with a no trespassing sign on the front. But Quill didn’t care about that; he went back to his car and turned the engine off so he could jump the gate with his phone as a flashlight. 

The walk to the house was a slow one, but Quill didn’t care; he didn’t even know why he’d come back, really.  His leg throbbed painfully with every step, getting worse and worse until he’d sat down on a rock beneath a huge oak tree he remembered from his childhood.  

Quill didn’t know how long he’d sat there for.  Hell, he didn’t even know what time it was right now, or how long he’d driven to get here, but by the time he finally got to his feet once more, the sun had already risen. 

The house - what was still standing of it, anyway - didn’t look much like Quill remembered.  He supposed that had to do with the vandalisation the place had endured in the fourteen years he’d been away.  The roof had partially collapsed and the outside walls were covered in overgrown greenery and spray paint. The windows were smashed and the front door hanging off its hinges, but still, Quill stepped inside.

Quill didn’t remember much of the living room.  What he  _ did  _ remember consisted almost solely of every horrible thing Ego had done to him on the couch that now lay on its back, ripped open and overflowing with stuffing in the deep wounds.  An old-fashioned TV Quill hadn’t even known existed in the house to begin with was unplugged and the screen smashed. Part of him wondered if his mother had ever sat down to watch it before. 

Quill didn’t want to go too far into the living room.  That place held no good memories for him anyway, but regardless, the floorboards were collapsing and beams were hanging dangerously out of the roof.  He couldn’t even access the kitchen or dining room as he didn’t care enough to try and get past the roof that had sunken in and blocked access. 

The hallway was dark and damp and smelled horrible.  His boot dampened at something he stepped in, and though he shuddered, he didn’t look to see what it was; he kept walking towards the room to his left he remembered as his mother’s bedroom.  

Overwhelming sadness at seeing the remainder of his mother’s room almost brought Quill to his knees as his throat tightened and nausea slammed into him.  He knew Ego had shared that room, too, but the few possessions left behind weren’t of Ego’s; the pink butterfly comforter almost brown with dirt and mould, and the matching blue butterfly curtains were Mary’s.  He remembered seeing them once, how he’d been so excited and whispered how beautiful they were. Now, they just made him want to weep as he remembered his mother’s smiling face at showing them to him. 

Old clothing that hadn’t stood the test of time was scattered on the floor, dresses and shoes that made Quill’s heart ache for his mother beneath his boots.  He wailed at the thought of disrespecting her belongings, wishing he had never seen them today so he didn’t have to think about how Mary had felt towards her possessions while she’d still been alive.  Still, he stepped in further, looking around the room and opening drawers to see what else had been left. He screamed his agony out when he came across an old photo ravaged by what had surely been rats, wondering if it was the only photo that had ever existed of him and his mother.  

Quill pocketed that photo.  No matter how much pain it caused him to know of it, he couldn’t leave it behind; the only thing of his mother he’d ever had was his Walkman.  But when he’d turned to leave the room, he stopped when he saw something behind the curtains. 

Quill shuddered at the filth that clung to his hand as he pushed the curtains away.  A strangled sound escaped his lips as he reached out with a trembling hand to pick up the snowman ornament sitting on the windowsill.  He couldn’t remember ever seeing that before, but he knew it wasn’t something of Ego’s; only Mary would have wanted something so cute, and that was the hardest realisation of today.

He carried the snowman with him out of the room and into the one next door, the room he remembered  _ far  _ too vividly as his own.  It was almost bare, save that  _ fucking bed  _ he resented and  _ feared  _ so much, still standing where he remembered it to have been.  He swore if he looked hard enough, he could see the chains tied to the bedhead, awaiting his tiny wrists and ankles.  The Smurfs blanket he’d once loved was moth-eaten and torn, and as much as it broke his heart to see it like that, he couldn’t bring himself to go near it; too many horrible memories of what had happened on top of that blanket were attached, and it made him feel sick to even  _ think  _ of touching it.  

He’d almost thought he’d seen everything there was to still see, but as he turned around to leave, his boot scuffed something on the ground.  He looked down to see what it was he’d kicked, and to his horror, he found something taken from him so long ago, he’d completely forgotten he’d ever had it. 

“Mr. Cat…” A single tear rolled down Quill’s cheek as he bent his back to pick up the detached arm of his cat teddy.  He looked around, trying to find the rest of his toy, not caring for the dirtiness it had garnered in its twenty-three years of abandonment.  

He found the rest of his cat teddy, ripped to pieces and scattered around the house.  Along with the snowman, he carried it outside and into the large dirt yard at the side of the house.  He cringed at the sight of the sedan still parked beneath the car shelter, but he didn’t go near it; the last memory he had of it was watching it run his already-dying mother down. 

Speaking of his mother, Quill tenderly placed his belongings on the ground next to him so he could lay down in the spot he’d lost her in.  He couldn’t open his eyes again; he was too afraid that if he were to do so, he would only see the pools of blood around her as she writhed and twitched for a sure eternity before forever falling still.  

Quill cried.  He cried and he screamed and he  _ mourned _ .  He thought he’d been doing better; he’d gone to see the grave marker Yondu had taken him to make out on Stakar’s huge property, and it had brought him peace.  

...But having lost Yondu, Quill could no longer cope with the losses he’d had in his life.  

Quill couldn’t leave yet.  Part of him had come to hope that if he’d came back here and faced his demons, the pain would ease.  That’d he’d be able to breathe again and his heart and mind wouldn’t hurt as much. But it hadn’t helped, and he suspected it was because he was crushed under the weight of immense guilt at knowing he’d left his mother buried out here for twenty years and never come back for her to bring her peace.

Quill gathered his possessions once again so he could stash them in the overgrown grass at the side of the shed just in case anyone happened to come by for whatever reason.  Once he was satisfied they were safe, he ambled off, deep into the woods that had always caused him terror as a child. 

Her grave was long and far from the house, but Quill didn’t care; even after all these years, he still remembered the way like it were only yesterday he had helped Ego dig her grave.  He found her eventually, and his only regret at that moment was that he had neglected to think things through and bring a shovel. No matter though; Quill’s mindset was so frail, he got down on his knees and  _ clawed  _ his way to her.  

He dug and clawed until his fingers were bloody and his nails damaged, but still, he didn’t stop - not until he heard someone calling his name from deep into the woods, and confusion at Thor having known where to find him filled his mind. 

But should he have been so surprised?  Thor knew him like the back of his hand… 

“Thor…” Quill’s exhaustion seeped into his voice as he sat back and waited for his lover to find him.  His shoulders slumped and he panted softly as his body shuddered every now and then from pain and exhaustion.  “Over here…” 

It didn’t take long for Thor to find him, and when he came crashing through the brush, he looked panicked.  He didn’t hesitate in wrapping Quill in his arms and holding on for dear life. “Peter! What are you  _ doing  _ out here?!  I have been so  _ worried _ !” 

Quill weakly returned the hug.  “How did you find me…?”

“I could not find you anywhere else and no one knew where you were.” Thor’s fingers dragged rapidly through Quill’s hair, as if he were trying desperately to ground himself with the knowledge that Quill was safe and in his arms.  “I asked around on Facebook if anyone had seen your car - when I saw you did not take Yondu’s car, I… I-I thought…” 

It was when Thor’s trembling voice broke off did Quill realise the terror he’d put through Thor through.  “You thought I had left to kill myself…” 

Thor nodded.  “I almost gave up hope that I would find you in time…  But then somebody messaged me on Facebook and told me they’d seen a white Toyota abandoned outside a vacant property, and I just…  I knew…” 

Quill closed his eyes and leant into Thor’s warmth.  “I didn’t come here to kill myself, Thor… I-I… M-my mother is…  This is where my mother is buried…” 

Thor’s heart stopped when he saw the blood and dirt clinging to Quill’s fingertips, as well as the blood that had soaked through the bandages on his shoulder and leg and dyed his clothing red.  He shook his head. “Peter, do not do this to yourself! Let me take you home and I will handle this.”

“No!” Quill yelled in fright.  He pulled out of Thor’s arms to throw himself against the grave he’d been digging at.  “No, I can’t leave her again! Please! D-don’t take me away from her again!” 

“You can go home and rest and I will bring the police here,” Thor promised as he reached out to take Quill’s hands in his own.  “I promise, Peter. I promise.” 

“No!” Quill wailed.  “No, you don’t  _ understand _ , Thor!  She’s here because of  _ me _ !  Please!” 

Thor sighed.  “At least let me take you back to the car and -” 

“ _ No _ !  I’m  _ not  _ leaving her!” Quill sobbed loudly.  “ _ Please _ , man!   _ Please  _ understand!” 

“...Alright.  But let me call the police.  I do not want you doing this on your own, Peter; it’s too much.” 

Quill agreed, too tired to argue, but he still refused to get out of the dirt, no matter how hard Thor tried to pull him away or plead with him.  He laid there, silent tears rolling into the dirt beneath him as Thor sat by his side and stroked his hair slowly.

The police arrived, and Quill cried his heart out when they eventually unearthed his mother’s bones.  Thor took him home at that, watching him from the corner of his eye as he drove and feeling his heart break at how  _ blank  _ Quill’s expression had become as he nursed the possessions gathered from the side of the shed on their way to the car.

“I will organise someone to take me back to get the Toyota today,” Thor promised, wanting to break the silence.  

Quill didn’t respond; he only closed his eyes and  _ finally  _ forced himself into sleep.  

* * *

 

Quill awoke to something soft in his arms.  He blinked blearily, trying to see what it was, but finally, he made out the sight of something small and black contrasting against the white of his bed sheets.  

“Thor…?” Quill sat up slowly as he realised the same cat teddy he had taken from the farm was in his arms, cleaned and stitched back together.  “Thor!” 

Quill slowly made his way out of the bedroom.  He limped out into the living room, finding it empty, so he tried the kitchen next.  Sure enough, Thor was seated at the dining table, playing with his phone as the microwave hummed across from him. 

“Thor…” Quill limped over to seat himself on his boyfriend’s lap.  He leant into the arms that hugged him tight as he lifted his teddy up to show Thor.  “My cat… He was in pieces this morning…” 

“Yes, Natasha drove me to go get your car from the farm, and she was so kind as to clean him and put him back together for you.” Thor kissed Quill’s temple gently.  “Your snowman is also on your bedside drawers; I have wiped him down for you.” 

“Thank you…” Quill fell silent again as he played with his cat.  He heard the dogs scratching at the sliding glass door to come in and see him, but he didn’t have the energy for that right now; they were fine as they were on the balcony.  

“How are you feeling?” Thor lifted Quill gently so he could get out from beneath him now that the microwave was beeping.  

“Better…” Quill licked at his lips before he whispered, “I’m sorry for worrying you…  I don’t know why I went there - I just… I-I don’t…  _ know _ …” 

“You should have told me, Peter,” Thor said gently.  “I would have come with you; anything could have happened to you there…” 

Quill sniffed.  “I just… I… I-I don’t know…  I have no excuse for you, Thor; I just…” 

“It is okay,” Thor promised.  “I am just relieved you are safe.” 

Quill nodded.  He fell silent again for a while as he watched Thor prepare their dinner, but eventually, he mumbled, “It’s just…  Burying Yondu… M-my mother… My mother never got that… And it was  _ my  _ fault she didn’t…  I had so many opportunities to make sure her body was found, but I…  I-I was selfish about it… All because I wanted to live in ignorance and believe Ego when he told me I was crazy…  I just didn’t want to go back to that house… Not under  _ any  _ circumstances…  And my mother… She paid the price for it…” 

“But she has been found now, and she will be given a proper burial,” Thor reassured.  “Because of  _ you _ , Peter.  You did the right thing, and I am sure she would have understood.  She  _ loved  _ you, Peter.” 

“Oh.” Quill reached into his pocket to withdraw the dusty photograph.  His eyes welled with tears as he looked at it before he stood and took it to show Thor.  “I found this… In the house. I think it’s the only one that ever existed.”

Thor tenderly accepted the photograph.  He wiped it off with his shirt to get a better look, but then, he smiled.  “She was beautiful, Peter. You look like her.”

Quill gave his own shy smile.  “Thanks… It’s… It’s really damaged…  Do you think you could help me fix it? A-and maybe…  Maybe I can put it in the album Yondu gave me…” 

Thor gave a fond smile.  “Of course, Peter. I’m sure we can fix it.  And I know Yondu would love for you to put it in there; it would make him so happy to know how important his gift is to you.” 

Quill’s smile grew more sincere now.  “Thanks, man… I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Peter.  Dinner will be ready soon.  I have already changed your bandages, so go and rest on the couch.  I will bring it to you.” 

“Thanks.” Quill kissed Thor’s cheek before he turned around and limped into the living room.  He sat down on the couch and turned the TV on, but the more he thought about it, he soon couldn’t help but call out, “Hey, Thor…?  Let the dogs in, can ya?” 

Quill heard Thor humming to himself as he obeyed, and soon the pitter patter of nails on the kitchen floor filled the air.  He braced himself for his dogs’ attention, knowing he had weeks to make up for avoiding him. 

“Thor?” As he wrapped his arms around Cosmo’s neck, he called out once more.  “And after dinner, can we go get Rocket from Stark’s? ...I think I’m ready to see him again.” 

Thor continued humming before he responded.  “Of course, Peter. Anything you want.” 

Quill smiled again.  The nightmares still came to him that night, but perhaps there had been merit in what he had done today after all, because coping with Yondu’s loss felt just that tiny bit easier.  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hesitant to post this when I have as I was wary of it possibly confusing my timeline to readers if I ever posted anything new for this series that still has Yondu alive and well. Because really, there is so much happy stuff I want that involves all these characters, but I also can't bring myself to leave Mary out there and have Peter moving on knowing he's never gone back for her.


End file.
